Before the cocks even crow
Their wheels already roll
Before humans return to life
Their horns already strive
Mischievous fellows, they are
Riding their bikes like cars
“Okada”, “Okada”, passengers call
This of course is what they want
With mad speed, they take to the roads
Giving no concern to the odds
They race like the wind does
Neglecting bumps and stops
To the right, to the left
They soon to all, become deaf
This motorcycle is no limousine
Yet they compete with oil tankers
“Olokada, pele pele”
Remains the pregnant woman’s plea
But rugged and stiff
Are their ears to this
Recklessness is their ringing theme
As they show not a tiny care
Except they have to halt
To obey the uniformed warden
But truth be told
They are rigid and dead
To all caution in their head
Sunken in this, they all are
For just like bees
Their thought is one
Lording over rough roads
Since they’ve remained tenants
In their garage homes
Wake them to the call of death
“Iku re, e yago l’ona”
Even unto death, they ride like chiefs
Seeing ‘wait’ signal, yet not fleeing
Foolhardy folks they remain
Till at last, they waste lives.


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